


If These Walls Could Talk

by darkstachio (aqxas)



Category: Youtube RPF
Genre: Angst, Blood, Darkstache - Freeform, Gen, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Antiseptiplier, post wkm
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-21
Updated: 2017-12-27
Packaged: 2019-02-05 03:48:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12786309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aqxas/pseuds/darkstachio
Summary: They had never discussed it, but always knew that they were more real than the others.Will is getting closer. Too close for comfort, but still not close enough.





	1. Sensory Overload

       “Made with love - as per usual, of course.”

       “Will. Your usual tends to wind up tasting like… ass, to put it delicately.”

       “And how would you know what ass tastes like?” Wilford waggled a loose oven mitt in Dark’s face before the grumpier man slapped at it, obviously annoyed by his shenanigans. The two contrasting personalities stood at the marble-topped kitchen island counter, and before them sat a glistening silver pan lined with perfectly golden cookies. Chocolate chips were melted beautifully along the surface, and the aroma was enough to transport you to sugary paradise. Unfortunately, Dark knew in the back of his mind that they were deceivingly perfect, and most likely had  _ something _ wrong with them. It was a carefully hidden fact that he sizeable sweet tooth, but the day Wilford made him the first target for all of his baking adventures was the day he decided to loathe them. There had been many attempts before this particular one, including a range of all goods from brownies to cheesecake, but it was unfathomable how Will could somehow mess every single recipe up. Even the simplest desserts went awry, either through looks or through taste, and the smell of the oven usually meant the sound of the fire alarm not a few minutes later. But these cookies, a classic and simple treat, looked as though they had a slight shot at being semi-decent for once.

       Ignoring Wilford’s attempt at humor, he reached for the tray and took one of the cookies, feeling the warmth touch through his perpetually cold fingers. He examined it, turning it over a couple of times to silently judge, while the other man waited in anticipation. Finally, he raised it to his mouth and took a bite, and knew his mistake as soon as the flavor met his tongue. He scrunched up his face in disgust, tossing down the rest of the offending cookie and wiping his lips as suavely as he could manage.

       “What?! What was bad about it?” His expression was genuine shock, and he reached for the cookie Dark had already bitten to taste it as well. Though he kept chewing, his face slowly distorted into a confused grimace. “Oh. Well that doesn’t taste right.”

       “Did you put salt in it instead of sugar?” Dark asked, staring at him. It wasn’t exactly unexpected.

       “At least it wasn’t rat poison this time.” Wilford joked, chuckling as he nudged Dark’s shoulder. He was about the only person in the world that could get away with that without severe injury. It was interesting to note just how much he could do that others couldn’t, for reasons neither of them could quite explain, or just weren’t willing to. Dark was more of the latter, as his pride was just too big for his body. Over the years, there had been many people pass through this house, but through every addition, the two of them had been there. Permanent residents of this realm and roommates for as long as they could remember, sometimes they even knew more about each other than they knew about themselves. It was a wonder they hadn’t torn each other apart yet, but it was like some invisible force always kept them from it.

       A handful of their other roomies came through the kitchen, because this was the perfect opportunity for a prank in Wilford’s mind. The doctor and Host weren’t fooled to begin with, as they had the pleasure of tasting his creations before, but poor Bim didn’t stand a chance. Will chuckled heartily as Bim sputtered at the taste of the vile thing, and even Dark had to admit that he found a little bit of entertainment in watching those idiots interact. After a while, you become accustomed to people, and their relationships… sometimes, you even start to become fond of them, against your better judgement. But never, ever let them know, no matter what your heart screams.

       The rest of the day was relatively quiet compared to every other day, and provided an opportunity for Dark to come out and stretch his legs. Most of the time, he spend his days in his room, contemplating all sorts of things that everyone else simply liked to call “brooding”. It wasn’t brooding, not necessarily - just alone time. He would sit on his velvet chair, tapping his fingers slowly along the wooden carved decorations of the arms, letting his aura consume him. Static, a tingling sensation so ever-present that he was numb, and a sharp ringing in his ears that stung his eyes and made him feel endlessly tense. It was even worse for those around him than it was for himself. But there he would sit, rolling over every memory he ever had, thinking of endless future possibilities and inevitable things to come, everything he could possibly think about rolling and swirling together in a mental thunderstorm. Every waking moment for him was a moment of pain and anger, settling deep inside his stomach and infecting his mind, comprehensible to no one. Despite his constant state of contemplation, there were certain things he couldn’t remember, which only added to his irritation. It was lost to him why or when exactly he existed in the first place… the older he grew, the less he remembered about anything beyond his anguish. Some way, some how, everyone in this house was the creation of one single man: Mark Fischbach. The absolute prick whose alternate “personalities” became real, yet he never seemed to care unless one of them inconvenienced him. Dark wanted him to die by his hand.

       Even though they were aware of their own situations, there was something different about himself and Wilford. They had never discussed it, but always knew that they were more real than the others. Their feelings were deeper, their thoughts were more muddled and human. Neither of them could remember how they got there in the first place, and though everyone looked basically the same, those two had always looked slightly different. As if they weren’t clones of the same man, but instead they were separate individuals entirely. And they may have even had history together, but no solid answer could ever be given; they just existed. 

       He happened to ponder this as he sat in the elaborate living room of their shared house, pretended to read a book but barely paying attention to any of the words. Though he was in the activity center of this place, there wasn’t a single person around, which he assumed was because he was there. He was intimidating, terrifying even, and none of the Egos (as they dubbed themselves) enjoyed being in his presence longer than they had to be. That would concern a normal person, but to Dark, that just meant that he had successfully established his power. They were all annoying, anyway, so if he had the capability to be happy about it, he would have been. 

       All good things must come to an end, however, as he heard the front door creak open and the telltale sound of someone struggling. Sighing, he made no move to close his book or to get up, but instead waited to see who would could around the corner and why the hell they were making so much noise. Unsurprisingly, it was Wilford, stumbling through with his arms full of grocery bags. God only knew what all he had bought this time, but Dark couldn’t complain too much about it. After all, no one else was that great of a shopper either, and he just simply didn’t want to.

       “Hey Darky, can you give your pal a hand?” The man with the pink mustache asked, but as far as Dark was concerned, he was fine on his own. So he simply sat there, staring at him, hoping that he would catch the hint that he had no intention of helping in the slightest. After a brief silent staredown, Wilford rolled his eyes and continued to stomp dramatically towards the kitchen like a miffed toddler, and the heavy thud that came afterward was likely him dropping the bags on the counter just to make a point.

       Still, he felt the need to continue running his mouth. “So I bought more peanut butter - I dunno why we need so much of this shit, the squirrels are everywhere - and more salt, because obviously I used it all. I got some disgustingly ‘healthy’ options,” He said, quoting the air. “But we all know we aren’t gonna eat ‘em. I also found this, if you want it.” 

       Tossed towards Dark’s face from the doorway was a small round object, which he caught mid-air with ease. In his hand was a soft ball, decorated with a bright pink color and a tiny face. As he stared at it’s sparkling black eyes and curled little mouth, he gave it an experimental squeeze, and was surprised by the sponginess. 

       “It’s one of those, uh, stress ball thingies. You always look like you’re about to pop a vein, so I figured somethin’ to fiddle with might be useful. Or not. I dunno. But it’s freaking adorable in any case.”

       By all standards, it was. The more Dark looked at it, the more it seemed to become something he’d actually keep. It was… an acceptable gift. Something about the way it reminded him of Wilford made him almost smile, but his stony face didn’t crack. Don’t let him see.

       Wilford continued to ramble on in the kitchen, but Dark only half-listened as he thought about why something that reminded him of him would even mean anything. Nothing should affect him like that, he was too numb. Yet, the same pattern occurred more than he’d like to admit at all; the silliest, most mundane things in the world could spark a brief sense of familiarity. He wondered if Will ever did the same.

       “ - so then she called security, which I don’t think was necessary… hey, are you even listening to me, or are you zoning out into oblivion again?” He peeked from around the corner to squint at Dark suspiciously, and of course, the latter was true. So he made his way over, and when he got to Dark’s chair he leaned down in front of him, so close that it made Dark snap completely out of his thoughts. He gazed into the other man’s brown eyes, which glittered with mischief, and watched as he reached for the stick hanging out of his mouth and pulled out a bright red sucker with a flourish. 

       “Say ‘ah’.”

       Oh, how disgusting. 

       “I’m not - ” Dark began, ready to rip him a new one for being so childish and unsanitary, but he failed to realize his fatal mistake. Once his lips had opened in protest, Will seized the opportunity and shoved the lollipop into his mouth, sent a brief wave of shock through his system. The flavor of cherry sugar was delicious, and he knew that Wilford’s mouth tasted the same. It was a thought that struck him as he rolled the candy over his tongue curiously, coating his mouth in the flavor before he stuck it between his teeth and bit down, shattering the entire thing in one slow crunch. He swallowed the red shards as he watched a face that reluctantly accepted the situation, sighing under his pink mustache.

       “Well, there was no need for that.” He rolled his eyes, sliding the stick out of Dark’s mouth. He stood up, hands on his hips, and began to walk away past him whenever he turned back last second. “You’re just a big ol’ grump, you’re not that scary.” He said, leaning down to plant a teasing kiss on Dark’s cool cheek. Dark knew it must feel strange to touch him, maybe even hurt, but still Wilford insisted on doing ridiculous things such as that. Lately, it had even been more frequent, much to his displeasure. 

       Not that scary, he said, and so flippantly too. The warmth of his lips still lingered on his face, and as the man walked away, he wanted to grab him. He wanted to clutch his arm and pulled him down, make him shudder as he realized just how scary he could be. He wanted to tear him apart and make him bleed, watch him squirm as he tore his flesh like a wild animal, make him finally respect him. But something still held him back, and it couldn’t have been basic human decency, because he never knew that in the first place. It was that damned connection they had, the most irritatingly unsolvable mystery. So he simply observed as Wilford put the sucker stick back in his mouth and disappeared down the hall, and he sat in silence.

  
  


       Day soon turned to night and one by one everyone went to bed, until only the quiet remained in the manor. The gently patterned maroon walls of his room matched the deep, elegant hardwood floors, accented by silver and gold decorations only the richest of men would dream of having. But it was all created by his own hand, a place only as real as the individual thought it to be, as the black silken sheets and velvet curtains sat on the edge of reality. No one dared disturb him here in his domain, and if they ever considered it, they would think twice once they saw the unnatural show of static around the doorframe. Beyond the items that sat among the subtle darkness were a set of curtain-drawn glass doors, which led out to a stone balcony perfect for nights like these. Dark stood out there, the black sheers billowing ever so slightly behind him in the cool breeze, and in his grey hand was a glass of red wine. Sometimes he would stand and watch his aura flicker, the red and blue after-images dancing together to the white noise and reminding him of how different he was from anyone else. It made him ponder.

       His attention was suddenly caught by movement down below, and he immediately recognized that familiar yellow shirt. But why on earth was he outside at such an hour? Granted, the man did extremely weird things by the minute, so he probably shouldn’t question it much. It wasn’t his business, after all.

       “Wilford.” He spoke, tipping his glass to sip the wine slowly. He knew he would be noticed just by a simple word - his deep voice was unmistakable. 

       The mustached man stopped in his tracks and looked up to lock eyes with the mysterious figure on the balcony. “Oh hello there. I was just coming back from a late night stroll.” He flashed a transparent smile.

       “You don’t like strolls. You always say that they’re too boring when you’re alone.” Dark stepped forward a bit to lean his elbows on edge. What a fool. 

       Wilford put his hands up in defense, raising his eyebrows. “Excuse me, Mr. I-Know-You-Better-Than-You-Know-Yourself, I forgot that sharing is caring. I was just committing light arson, all in good fun.”

       “Arson? How messy.” Dark grumbled, displeased. However, this was an excellent opportunity. Without thinking, he opened his mouth again. “Well, if you’re done being a maniac tonight, come inside. I have something I’d like to discuss.”

       “No rest for the wicked, my friend, but I’d never deny an invitation from you.”

       In truth, Dark wasn’t sure what specific aspects he wanted to discuss. His main focus was intended to be a conversation about their feelings of individuality, but so many other things had started to buzz around his mind. Why was Will being so specifically affectionate lately, in his own strange way? And why the hell was Dark letting him get away with all of it? Even for the two of them, there was a line to be drawn in the sand… and that line had been nearly washed away.

 

       By the time Wilford made it up to the room, Dark was already waiting with two glasses and a patient expression. His legs were crossed intimidatingly, showcasing he had all the power in the air, but it didn’t make a bit of difference to his guest. In fact, he was far too used to it, and that hit every nerve Dark had now. The more he thought about it, the more he was angry at himself for letting things be taken this far, and he decided to give Wilford a stern talking to after his main point was made.

       “Sit down.” He said in as pleasant of a tone as he could muster when the man opened his door, but of course it didn’t go as he had in mind. Instead of taking a seat in the chair next to him, Wilford walked right past it and towards the balcony doors, where he peered through the black curtains at the starry sky above. Strike one, and he felt his anger bubble slowly, like a stove on low heat. 

       “Wow, you have a better view than I do. Lovely room, you should consider a career in interior decoration.” Wilford chuckled to himself, but Dark didn’t find it very amusing. He just waited in silence until Will took the hint to find himself a seat, but even then, he still didn’t do as he expected. Defying all unspoken etiquette, he sat right down on the edge of Dark’s bed, the perfectly smooth covers now being patted down by his curious hands. It would have been tolerable had he not given it a bit of a bounce as well. 

       “So why did you invite me into your mysterious evil lair? You said you wanted to discuss something?” The way he looked under the dim light was unusually extraordinary. It was as if every bad thing about his personality was setting off, but attempting to make up for it by that beautiful little glint in his eyes. An unsteady strike two, and the feelings deep inside of him were churning. It was so frustrating that it made him want to explode; back and forth he went through the emotions, one minute loving him and the next minute hating his guts. Nothing could ever be simple when it came to the two of them, ever since day one. Whenever that was.

       Dark took a deep breath, preparing himself for the upcoming difficulty of trying to hold a serious conversation. “Yes. I wanted to talk about… us. More specifically, who we are.” He folded his hands in his lap. “For years, I’ve examined the fact that the two of us are different from the others here. You know this, I know this, correct?”

       It was a relief to see that Wilford’s expression was somewhat calm. “Yeah, yeah. I’ve always felt like we were a little cooler and definitely a little more handsome than everyone else. And feel flattered by that - I usually consider myself to be the most gorgeous specimen in the room, but I decided to include you too.”

       Egotistical. “Whatever. Thank you for the ‘compliment’. The point is, if we’re so different, can’t we come to the conclusion that we weren’t created out of thin air? Think about it. The others here, they remember the day they began to exist, and know who they are clear as crystal. But I know that you don’t even know how you got here. I don’t. All I remember is fury.”

       There was something familiar about the way Will looked in the darkness, though he couldn’t explain exactly what it was. There could be no assurance that it wasn’t just completely in his head, but… his silhouette, elbows on his knees and chin in his hands in a state of pondering, made him out to be not Wilford at all. The minute he moved, however, it was apparent that Dark was just imagining things, and he silently noted that this was not the first time that very thing had happened. Perhaps it was all just another symptom of being so utterly broken inside and out.

       A gentle hand in the shoulder broke his spiral of self-loathing, less of a harsh touch and more of a reassurance he’d never felt before. He hadn’t noticed that Wilford had come up to him, nor did he notice how violent the aura surrounding himself had become. He could hear his voice cutting through the ringing, a single light in the fog to bring him back ashore.

       “Hey, you may think I’m an idiot, but you’re absolutely wrong. I understand how you feel.” There was a twinge of sadness in his words. “I don’t remember a damn thing either. But you know what? Every day is a great day to be me! I don’t focus on the past, I focus on the present. Maybe one day, it’ll all come back to us somehow.”

       His eyes crinkled when he smiled, but it was fake positivity that was sadder than anything else. His hand gave Dark’s shoulder a squeeze, only adding onto the pain and making him angrier. Strike three, and all of his heartbreak finally came climbing up his throat despite himself. He felt like a jagged edge of a broken shard, once perhaps part of something beautiful, but now sharp and painful to anyone who dared to touch him. But a lesson must be learned - don’t pick up the shattered pieces unless you’re willing to bleed.

       “Why? Why do you keep thinking that you can do these things?” Dark said, his voice deeper than before. At the crossroads of unbridled rage and gut-wrenching despair, all he could do was act on instinct alone.

       “Touching you? Well, you didn’t really seem to mind.” Wilford said, moving to remove his hand. Before he could withdraw, Dark reached up and clasped it tightly in his own, a terrifyingly cold grip.

       He licked his lips. “I mind a great deal. It wouldn’t hurt to show some respect once in awhile. You can’t just do this to me.” 

       “Respect? You know the two of us respect each other, it shouldn’t have to be said all the time. You’ve never had a problem with it before!” The man was slightly flabbergasted. “Is something else going on?”

       “I can’t fucking stand you. I despise you. You’re sloppy, psychotic, unpredictable. I can’t control you.” Dark growled, his fingers tightening and his knuckles going white. He was taking it too far, but it was like watching himself through a screen. He couldn’t stop his mouth from running, much like the one on the receiving end of the barrage.

       Though he was being so viciously attacked, Will showed no sign of anger or pain. He was too smart for his own good. “Blah, blah, blah! You’re lying, I can tell. You forget that ol’ Warfie is a little more insightful than you make him out to be. Are you just taking your problems out on me?” 

       “You are the problem. I want your head on a platter.” Stop. Shut up.

       “Then prove it to me! Kill me! Hit me with your best shot, old friend!” 

       The taunting was unbearable, and being called an old friend struck a chord deep within him. In a second, Dark was on his feet, yanking Wilford upward with his deadly hold. Red, blue, green, black, all disjointed and chaotic within this room that had bore witness to it all from the beginning of time. God, they were so close, and Dark’s breath was unnaturally hot against the charged air as he began to push Wilford backwards, knowing full well that he would give in to his lead. They went crashing into the wall by the glass doors, their panes rattling as he shoved Will’s back against the crimson wallpaper, and the man gasped in surprise. He was pinned with no escape, and for the first time there was a slight flicker of fear, just as there should have always been. Deep in Dark’s throat was a monstrous growl, low and threatening, like a predator about to strike its prey. But no further action was being taken. No violence or murder, not even a bad word uttered. They just stood there, frozen in the moment as their chests rose and fell in panicked rhythm, a man capable and unwilling and a man willing but incapable; it was unclear who exactly wanted to do what. 

       A harsh ringing was all that could be heard above their breath, enveloping them in an unstable cocoon of distortion. They stared into each other’s eyes, wondering who would blink first, and if that meant the other person would snap. Of course Dark had the upper hand, but Wilford was capable of many dangerous things one might not expect, solidifying his place as Dark’s only true opponent. Could they fight? Would they? For years they managed to avoid falling into the deep end, but something was cracking right beneath their feet and they both knew it.

       He released his grip. Crescent-shaped marks lingered where his nails had dug into Will’s skin, shining with slivers of crimson where the skin had been broken. He wasn’t sorry, for the thought had crossed his mind to do so much more.

       “Leave.” Dark said lowly, refusing to drop his gaze even so. 

       There was a hesitation, as if he didn’t believe he was truly letting him go, but a few moments of calculating determined that it was in his best interest to do what Dark said. So he ducked out of the way and left, not minding that the door automatically slammed shut behind him. Then Dark was alone once more, the echoes of what just happened still lingering in his thoughts clear as crystal and hot as fire. As he turned to look back at the door, the idea crossing his mind that he might have actually regretted his harshness, something caught his eye. The shadow of two feet, lingering in the hall. Unmoving, debating, until they slowly disappeared with hesitant, quiet steps. They were both such fools, and they knew it.


	2. Fading Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There were more layers to Wilford than met the eye.

       It was a just a fleeting thought, a glimpse at someone that may have never existed at all. A black veil, shimmering under the dim light with specks of what could only have been stardust. Her skin was pale and her lips were painted dark, curled into a mysterious smile that concealed a thousand words. Though most of her face was hidden, she was so familiar that it was gut-wrenching, like a knife slowly twisting through a wound. She held power so immense that it was radiating off her body, an invisible force of nature. She was a victim and a culprit of crimes unknown, and her presence resonated even after she was gone. Gone, far gone, and never to return. But then there was a man in her place, hair sleekly parted and expression so haunted that all one wanted to do was touch him, comfort him. He clutched a cane that glinted just as the woman’s veil did, his shoulders trembling with the weight of the world as he was painted with such a sad shade of blue. Hurt, lies, betrayal - all these things made up his world alone. Slowly, he disappeared in a wave of sorrow and anguish.

       Wilford woke with a start, his hand outstretched above him. He was panting, covered in a cold sweat, and his arm flopped down to the bed while he tried to catch his breath. It was early in the morning, and the sun shone through the curtains a little too blindingly for his pounding headache. It wasn’t out of the ordinary for his head to hurt - in fact, it was pretty much daily - but this migraine was particularly painful for the crack of dawn. So slowly, he took a handful of pills from the ever-present bottle on his nightstand and chewed them like candy, hoping that maybe those combined with a morning stretch would do the trick to sort out his funk. He fumbled out of his layers of blankets and pillows, sighing when his bare feet touched the soft pink carpet. He stood, the hem of his nightshirt that he swore was fashionable falling down around his thighs, and gave his body such a stretch that he felt his spine crackle. That made him feel a little better, at least, so he proceeded to carry out his day as per usual. There was no sense dwelling on a dream of people he’d never met before.

       Once he was dressed and ready to announce to the entire house that he was the first one awake, he headed out the door with his mustache perfectly curled and his bowtie perfectly fitted. As he had been putting it on, he felt a strange sensation deep in his stomach, sort of like a mix between fondness and loss. But it was no matter, so that didn’t stop him from being his signature Warfstache best. The only thing that could make his best falter would be the man behind the closed bedroom door at the end of the hallway, who managed to affect him in a way that he didn’t believe was even possible. The more he thought about the events of last night, the more he unconsciously drifted towards said door, his ears filled with a low hum that could only mean the man himself was asleep. Unbeknownst to Dark, his aura was least powerful when he was sleeping, which lended itself to a variety of hilarious pranks if any of them would ever grow the balls to do it. However, for once pranks weren’t the foremost thing on Wilford’s mind, and his hand impulsively went up to knock on the door. The knocking was emphasized by how quiet the mansion seemed to be afterward, until slowly, the almost peaceful hum began to bloom into that familiar ringing, and colors began to slightly shift around the walls. He was awake, and Wilford swallowed hard at the very distinct possibility that he’d forget everything he meant to say. But nothing in the world could be more foolproof than a smile, so he put on his best one.

       After a minute or so of waiting and quite a few moments of regret, the door swung open partially to reveal Dark’s handsome face, and Wilford had to admit that bedhead was a good look for him. Then again, he was pretty sure that he could pull anything off. With those sultry eyes, and the dark stubble that covered his strong jaw -

       “Do you need something?” He grumbled.

       In an instant, Wilford snapped to attention. “Good morning! Listen, Darky, I’ll get straight to the point: we need to talk.”

       There was a hesitation, but Dark remained stone-faced despite it. “We ended our discussion last night.” He attempted to close the door, but Wilford quickly stuck his foot in it, preventing a smooth exit. 

       “I don’t think we did, buddy. I, uh, I have to say,” He cleared his throat, reaching up to place his elbow on the door and lean closer. “You’re having a lot of issues right now, I can tell, but that encounter was real weird.” Dark was silent, so he continued. “So I think we should try it again, except with less wall-slamming and death grips. Yeah?”

       The quiet that followed was heavy, and Will wasn’t entirely sure what kind of emotion he was reading behind Dark’s eyes. There was an uneasiness, like he hadn’t entirely made up his mind on how to proceed. He was closed off, even more so than he had ever been, and three times as exhausted. He wanted to know what he was thinking, but that would take the mystery out of it - not to mention, give Dark an excuse to be even more awkwardly silent. But finally, the tired man spoke, dropping from his grumble to nearly a whisper.

       “We’ll talk later, alright? I promise.” Many promises had been made by him before, but this was one of only a handful that seemed earnest. Wilford removed his foot from blocking the door, and slowly is closed, the man’s face disappearing behind the carved wood but still leaving a lingering presence even so. It reminded him of the man in his dream, and it was all he could do not to bust it back open.

       He turned around on his heel and ran his fingers underneath his suspenders, a weirdly comforting sensation he caught himself doing often. His small smile had turned into one of triumph, though his nerves were preventing him from doing much more to celebrate his small victory. All of those around him always seemed to be under the impression that they knew exactly what was going through Wilford’s head at any given point - a fair assumption, considering how much he spoke his mind, but still false nonetheless. It was true that most of his thoughts were jumbled, strange, even “violent”, but there were more layers to him as a person than met the eye. When you see a man with a pink mustache and grand bravado, you seldom wonder what might be underneath. 

       “Shh, be quiet.”

       “I’m quiet.”

       “...You’re Jim.”

       Wilford, puzzled but immediately suspicious, snapped his eyes towards where the voices were coming from. Downstairs, looking up through the banisters, were the wonderfully delightful and terribly obtrusive Jim twins, the quieter one pointing a camera directly at Wilford’s face. It wasn’t like it was unusual for them to be lurking around, but they always seemed to find the absolute worst moments to catch people off guard - the worst moments, and the juiciest information.

       “Hey! What are you little parasites doing?” He questioned, putting his hands on his hips. They gasped when they realized they had been noticed and made a clumsy retreat, scuttling away in fear in their khakis. Oh well, at least no one even watches Jim News anyway.

       Clutching the banister, he made his way down the staircase and wandered through the living room, trying to think about what he should do for the day. Another interview perhaps? An escapade of destruction? The possibilities were endless, for sure. And with such an early start to his day, whether purposeful or not, he could fit even more shenanigans into the evening and maximize his full brilliant potential. As he migrated his way through the kitchen, grabbing an apple as he passed, he entered the dining room and was immediately taken aback by the fact that Bim and Yandere were already sitting at the table. Why the hell was everyone up so damn early anyway? And those two, together, having a conversation? The day was just getting weirder by the minute.

       “Good morning chums!” He sang, plopping down at his usual seat near the end of the table and taking a big chomp out of his breakfast. Healthy food usually sucked, but he wasn’t really in the mood to make anything more extravagant. His weird dream, in combination with his very short conversation with Dark, was tying his stomach in knots despite his best effort to ignore everything. It was like it was infecting his brain, settling deep down into his thoughts and spreading through every seam like a virus, begging him to remember.

       “Warfstache! Good morning, how’d you sleep?” Bim put on his dazzling smile, 

       “Judging from the voices I heard last night, and the bags under his eyes, I’d say he didn’t sleep very well.” Yan-chan didn’t even look up from buttering his bread, which made the comment all the more irritating. 

       Wilford talked with his mouth full. “Hey, you don’t know jack diddly shit. Maybe I had a wonderful night! I may have gotten a good night’s rest, you don’t know!”

       “I’m just a keen observer.” He twirled the butter knife in his hand, which was more than a little unsettling for poor Bim. The show host sat there uncomfortably, his smile still turned up to a 10, fully aware of the fact that the two people at the table with him were both extremely capable of murder on a whim. 

       “Get out of here, aren’t you’re gonna be late for school or whatever? Put some toast in your mouth and skedaddle.” Wilford reached to give Yandere’s sailor uniform-clad shoulder a playful smack, which prompted a massive eyeroll. He got up, school bag in hand, and indignantly took his toast and left the plate for someone else to clean. Kids, always so disrespectful. 

       Bim watched him leave the room before he spoke again, this time in a much more toned-down voice. “Okay, what really happened? I heard voices too, and a big thud coming from Dark’s room. According to the Jims, you were even talking with him this morning! Death grips?!” 

       “Wait, how did they spread that information so fast?” Wilford asked, genuinely befuddled, but then he shook his head. “Nevermind that. Yeah, we kinda got into a bit of a tussle, but it’s certainly none of their business! I know I’m a big fan of juicy gossip, but this is a gossip-free topic. Forbidden. Capiche?”

       “Sure thing, sure thing.” Bim nodded. Thankfully, he was one to easily grasp the concept of privacy. He was a weird dude, very invested in his own identity, but he was reasonable when it came down to it. “If you don’t mind me asking, though, what was it about?”

       “Just nonsense. I can barely remember any of it now.” Wilford lied, and that was the end of that.

  
  


       It was like a sudden nosedive. The rest of the day was like a haze, a collection of moments he barely paid attention to and a pace that seemed to switch back and forth between a snail’s pace and a blink of an eye. There were many strange things he was capable of doing, but nothing quite entertained him as much as it usually did. It was a terrible funk unlike any he’d ever experienced before, and every time he closed his eyes he found himself thinking about Dark. About the mysterious man and woman. About himself. Moment by moment, there was uncertainty in everything, and every laugh he gave was empty. Even then, as he came through the front door and exclaimed his usual “Honey, I’m home!” to anyone who may have been within earshot, he felt disoriented. Progressively, life was beginning to feel more and more out of place, as if the wonderful array of colors he lived in was dulling, fading away. It made him want to crack open his own skull and sprinkle in some glitter for any kind of sense of normalcy. 

       It seemed as though normalcy was far out of reach, however, as Wilford continued through the dimly lit manor and began to wipe the makeup from underneath his eyes. He preferred it to make himself look more flawless than natural, but this was one of the rare occasions of which he had genuinely needed it to look alive. The tissue in his hand, smeared with peach perfection, was trembling now; his chest rose with a sharp intake of breath. It had been so long since he had felt such raw sadness that he was afraid there was something inside him that had a grip on his heart. Though the mansion was quite when he first entered, he could hear a white noise that began to get louder the longer he was there. 

       Suddenly, he stopped clumsily in his tracks when he stepped into the hallway, as his ears were filled with such a piercing noise that it almost made him crumple. Everything was distorted, the shadows on the walls creeping in closer with a pulsing fever while the floor seemed to creak and groan under his weight. Red, blue, white, black - he could barely keep his eyes on his own feet as the air swam with afterimages, and for a split second he wondered if this was in his own mind. But of course, it was obvious, it couldn’t be anyone else’s doing besides the man behind the door at the end of the hall. So onward he pushed, grunting with the effort it took so simply walk among this bullshit reality and power through the pain, until his hand fumbled with the ice cold doorknob and swung it open.

       “Dark!” He yelled irritatedly, and it completely slipped his mind to knock this time. 

       Dark was on his bed, pressed against the wall with his knees drawn to his chest, surrounded by visual glitches that would make anyone’s head spin. It was a vulnerable image that Wilford had never seen before in his entire life, and it almost made him want to apologize and leave as quickly as he came in. Dark’s expression was far away, his eyes unfocused and his brows furrowed, and his aura was so powerful that he was hard to even be in the vicinity of. He looked up, his accidentally exposed softness morphing through several emotions before hardening into his familiar scowl. However, there was nothing normal about how much the air was suffocating. 

       He wasted no time getting to his feet, coming at the other man with such an intensity that Wilford felt his own heart trying to burst right through his ribs. Dark was a seemingly unstoppable force, but it made a whole world of difference once Will decided to stop taking steps backward and face him like a proper adult, even though he probably couldn’t be counted as one. So as he got closer, so close that he could feel his static seeping into his skin, he made no move to back down and instead forced eye contact. Dark’s stare was so deeply penetrating that it sent a chill down his spine.

       “I can’t tell if you have eyes like an angel, or eyes like the devil.” Will said, crossing his arms. The corners of his mouth twitched with a genuine smile as Dark’s brow furrowed even more deeply. “Careful, you’ll get wrinkles if you keep making such a sour face.”

       Maybe it was something about how he smiled, or simply even the way he lowered his voice, but the ringing in his ears was fading. Whatever made Dark’s aura slowly begin to die down was a blessing, but he watched as Dark’s face died along with it. There was the ever-present anger, but now there was pain. So much pain, just sitting so close to the surface that anyone could tell. 

       “I remember.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the delay! i'll make it up to you, don't you worry... wink


	3. Haunted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The electricity humming through his bones was crying out for so much more.

      “What do you mean you remember?”

      Dark admired him. He always had, in some way. Wilford was standing here before him, refusing to run and hide from the big bad wolf, and probably the only person on Earth who wouldn’t cower in fear. It was that bravery that lingered through years long past, and that twinkle in his eye that Dark so craved to know. The adventure that awaited with every turn when it came to that man was irritating, irrational, and in some wicked way, exhilarating. But Dark was too numb to appreciate it all this time, too much of a sad sack to truly realize how desperately he needed that splash of color.

      “I don’t remember everything, it’s not that clear.” He murmured, and he clenched his fists to stop his own hands from shaking. “But I remember the two of us. We were such different people… we were-” His mouth snapped shut before the word “close” could roll out. Close, oh how he longed for that. It made his body ache.

      His whole day has been spent pondering what life they may have had. All the clues he had gathered in his lifetime were piled up into an incomplete puzzle, supported none by what he tried so hard to dig up, but all it took was one incident to poke a hole in the dam. Cleaning was not an activity he particularly enjoyed, but his urge for order overwhelmed his (simply put) laziness. A disorganized life meant a disorganized mind, so he intended to do anything he could to try and clear up the mess he felt inside of his brain. In the process, he had rediscovered his old cane, which had been lying unused in his closet for God knows how long, and wondered if perhaps he should do something with it… but no, it was his, even if he had no need for it. Just as he was about to set it down on his dresser, he elected to gaze up into the mirror, which he had always had a problem with. It wasn’t that he didn’t like the way he looked, it was just always so unnerving. It was like when he stared at himself, it was a different person entirely staring back. This time, however, he didn’t get to look at himself long before the glass started to crack, the breaks running jaggedly through the smooth surface without somehow shattering the whole thing completely. All he could think about was the broken mirror in the parlor, never replaced. About a broken neck. About a gunshot. Briefly, a word whispered through his head: Colonel.

      A baseball bat to the head would have hurt less than the roaring flood of thoughts that slammed around his skull. Mark reset the timeline. Made it seem as though the events of that night never even happened, so the sins of his mistake could never catch up to him. A celebrity? No. Not anymore. Now he made Youtube videos, catered to the masses with his pure and happy facade. Or perhaps, it wasn’t a facade at all, and he was purposefully unaware of anything - he freed himself of the guilt by making sure it never existed in the first place, and no one dared remember. He couldn’t bear to erase the two of them, however. It was too sad, too difficult, even after it all. So he gave them his house, and the luxury of not knowing where they came from. The interdimensional package was wrapped up neatly with a bow on top, but Mark’s fatal flaw was that he did, in fact, believe he was having mercy on his creations. By leaving the manor behind with those two inside, he provided them with abilities beyond mortal men, and created a place where his characters came to life. One man’s unintentional workshop of horror, born from his desire to leave the past behind. 

      The memories of the past had begun to leak through the cracks, and Dark had been working all day to catch every bit. He still didn’t know their names, or really who they even used to be, but the feelings were there. There was fondness, happiness… loss. Confusion. Betrayal. Desperation. There was a looming sensation of rage that nearly overshadowed it all, a red hunger that seared through his brain and settled in like a disease, one which had so much control over him that he could barely breathe. For years he had been at the mercy of the monster inside, but the cold truth was that there was nothing inside of him - he was the monster. He was born of revenge, and lived off of power and control. He could never be anything more.

      Warmth slowly began to envelope his hand, and when he looked down, he realized Wilford was holding it. His fingertips, naturally so beautiful against the desaturated hues of Dark’s own skin, were threatening to turn grey the longer he lingered, but Will didn’t show any sign of letting go. It was a tender moment as the two of them stared at their hands together, and it only emphasized his point of how different they were. But as his gaze trailed upward, across the cuffs of his shirt, the wrinkled fabric, the crooked bowtie, it was the smile on his lips that stood out the most. Dark wasn’t used to seeing that kind of smile from him, where all the falsehood had drained until only bittersweet remained - a sad soul, and a soul worth every second. That softness made him feel safe somehow, and he was so familiar with the sensation of pain that he had forgotten what it felt like to be alright.

      “You act like it’s such an important code to crack. It torments you, the idea that there’s something you don’t know. It’s kinda funny. As our resident best investigator, I can assure you that we’ll get to the bottom of everything somehow, mark my words.”

      That was the final straw to make his cold heart pound, and Dark slowly reached to wrap his arms around Wilford, consequences and bruised pride be damned. His hand rested on the other man’s back, resisting the urge to grip as tightly as he could, and he pressed his face softly into his shoulder. He smelled as he always had, but this was the closest he had willingly gotten to his body, pressed against him in an embrace that he didn’t know would feel this nice. Wilford stayed still for a minute, and Dark could feel his heartbeat against his own chest, but it didn’t take too long for Will to hesitantly respond. The feeling of his arms around his shoulders and his fingers slowly nestling themselves in the back of his hair made Dark only melt further; he squeezed his eyes shut, breathing in his scent so deeply as if he were trying to fill his lungs with warmth and comfort. They had never hugged like this before, at least not in this lifetime, but it felt like home.

      When Dark decided to pull back a little, still wrapped in embrace, Wilford’s hand slid to touch his stubbled cheek. It was unconsciously that he leaned into his warm palm, keeping his tired eyes closed and praying for a sign that maybe this wasn’t so wrong of him to do. Maybe he could have this moment of peace all to himself, have Will as his and only his. He couldn’t even remember when he started wanting him in the first place, or perhaps he had wanted him all along and never even knew. 

      “You have no right to be looking like that, you know.” Wilford grumbled ever so quietly, obviously enjoying himself. “Seeing you so pretty makes me want to kiss you or something.”

      Oh. He wondered what that would feel like. 

      One hand resting firmly on Will’s waist, Dark removed his other to reach up and cover the warm touch that was resting on his grey skin, taking it slowly off and savoring the heat that still lingered. Still cupping his hand, he brought his palm closer to his mouth, brushing his cool lips against Wilford’s wrist and giving it a tender kiss. It was a small gesture that even he couldn’t begin to justify, other than that was simply what he wanted to do, and he partially opened his eyes to judge his reaction. His gaze was likely unintentionally sultry, but he was past the point of preventing wearing his heart on his sleeve when it came to that despicably lovable goofball. At first, it was as if Wilford didn’t quite know what to do with himself, seeing as though he had never received such gentle affection from a man who claimed to despise him not a day earlier. Dark meant what he said, in a way - no one had ever left him in such a state of vulnerability, and it scared him. Fear should never hold oneself back, however, which was why when he felt Wilford move the two of them closer to the wall, he didn’t resist.

      “Bold move.” He murmured when he felt his back press against the wallpaper, their predicament the same tune from last night but in a different key. This time it was Dark who was pinned, but there was no anger or aggression between them now, only racing thoughts of the unknown. Wilford laughed quietly and drew closer, to the point where his mustache nearly tickled Dark’s face. This wasn’t a good idea, it couldn’t be healthy for either of them, but the electricity humming through his bones was crying out for so much more.

      Just whenever they needed it the most, however, alone time was out of their grasp. Someone was knocking on the bedroom door, a bouncy yet timid rhythm as if there was excitement underneath the fear of bothering Dark with anything. It took a considerable amount of self control not to just yell at them to go away, as when he paused to look at Wilford, those eyes glittered with amusement.

      “Act normal.” Dark grumbled, slipping away from the wall reluctantly to go open the door. Who has the audacity to interrupt them? Technically no one knew what was going on, but still. It was rude in theory. So he gripped the door knob and swung it open, knowing full well how terrifyingly pissed and rumpled he probably looked, and the look on poor Bim’s face only confirmed it. The smaller man, suit neatly pressed and glasses gleaming, flinched in terror at the realization of his mistake, but the brave fool decided to continue whatever mission he was on.

      “Hello, Dark! I, um, just came to see if you wanted to go out with us tonight. I know you don’t like to go out in public a lot, but the others thought it would be rude if we didn’t extend an invitation. We were going to ask Warfstache to ask you, but we haven’t seen - oh.”

Bim stopped mid sentence as he peered around Dark’s shoulder, where Wilford was sitting pretty as a princess on the edge of the bed, legs crossed and head back as if he were the royal heir to the kingdom of Moron. He inspected his nails dramatically, chest puffed and lips pursed, before he turned to look at Bim.

      “I’m right here, obviously.” He rolled his eyes, laying it on thick. “Can I not drop by to see my best strictly platonic friend in the whole wide world once in awhile?”

      Dark wanted to strangle him. Was “normal” so difficult for him to achieve? Either that, or he was being so intensely plastic just to get on his nerves. Dark suspected the latter, and made a mental note to punish him for that later somehow.

      “Uh, you definitely can, not telling you you can’t.” Bim shifted his weight. “But anyway, just wanted to ask. We’re heading out to the party in a few minutes, might grab something to eat. Not formal, just a normal get-together with slight potential to be a rager.”

      “We’ll be right down.” Wilford grinned, and Dark was floored. No, he didn’t want to go out. Parties were for those who had no more important things to do than mingle with other sweaty bodies and sway to a pulsing beat until their legs gave out, and he liked to consider himself above that. He was eager to hear what Will would have to say for himself once Bim decided to leave them alone, so he simply stared at the awkwardly smiling gameshow host until he nodded in understanding and turned heel to make a quick exit. Dark shut the door, pausing for a moment, before turning around and marching towards Wilford to give him a sizeable smack on the arm. He cried out in surprise, going immediately into hurt puppy mode and curling back in exaggerated shock. 

      “Owww, rude.” He whined. “I just thought it would be nice to get you out of this cave for a little bit, get your mind off of the past for tonight.”

      Dark avoided eye contact, refusing to admit to himself that it might not be so bad. “I don’t want to get my mind off the past, Will. I keep turning everything over and over, hoping to find answers but only getting more questions. You’re distracting me.”

      “Seemed to me like you wanted to be distracted.”

      The nerve. “I don’t need to be psychoanalyzed by the likes of you.” He leaned over Wilford then, poking his finger to his chest as a sign that he wasn’t entirely serious. The corners of his lips that were tugging into a small smile were enough to show that. In return of the tease, Wilford burst into a grin, reaching up to flick a raven-colored curl away from Dark’s eyes.

      “You are so predictable.” He said as he ran his finger across the other man’s nose and down his lips. Dark had the deepest urge to bite it right off.

 

      Everything about the night from the very beginning was every different shade of strange. Of course they took the expensive car Dark had procured, and made sure they were dressed to the nines, but the pure oddity of even going out with the others in the first place made it all seem like a messed up dream. Apparently the party was being hosted by another Youtuber ego, but everyone neglected to inform Dark of exactly who it was. All he could do was sit in the driver’s seat of the black Mercedes and head in the direction Will pointed him in, because no one trusted Wilford to drive himself. Bim and the Jims were in the backseat, somehow free of any visible cameras, though Dark suspected that the twins would be right in the middle of it all with a phone if any drama were to break out. He hoped that no drama would, as that was the last thing he needed, but he gave the whole idea of an outing some thought as he was getting dressed a few minutes earlier. Perhaps Will was right - a distraction was welcome. It might give him a chance to mull over everything with a fresh set of eyes later that night.

      They pulled into the well-lit driveway of a large house, one that wasn’t as large as their own and definitely more modern, but still vaguely elegant nonetheless. He felt as though he may have seen it before, but nothing immediately came to mind. That only made him more uneasy, but he was willing to give it a chance for Wilford’s sake. Something in the back of his mind was telling him that Will wasn’t just doing this for him; he was doing it for himself as well. It was a known fact about him that he tended to run away from his problems instead of confront them, and this was likely just another attempt at escaping the looming truths threatening to change both of their lives forever. Dark wasn’t a fan of change, but it was inevitable, no matter how far they tried to run. 

      A few other cars were lined up in the drive in various states of being, ranging all the way from expensive taste to used dealership rejects. Whoever was the host must have been fairly popular, to say the least, and Dark was trying to list off everyone he knew that might achieve this level of social stardom. There were a few possibilities that came to him, but he decided to keep them to himself until he had more evidence to support his potential hypotheses. The group of five found a place to park and got out of the car, all dressed different from the norm and ready to make an entrance. Dark’s slick blazer and black jeans was a more casual version of his usual, but Wilford’s floral letterman and cuffed Levi’s was a welcome change from his hideously charming suspender-clad outfit. Apparently, the two of them were both thinking about what the other looked like, as Dark caught the other man scanning him up and down.

      “You know, you should wear jeans more often.” Will commented, giving him a wink. 

      “Am I being reduced to eye candy now?” He said sarcastically, putting the car keys in his pocket. “Wonderful. Glad to know I’m such a valuable addition to your groupies.”

      Wilford nudged him with his elbow, laughing. “Come on Darky, don’t be a grump. Like I said in the car, this is supposed to be a fun night. It’s the biggest party of the year so far! It just wouldn’t be the same if you weren’t here.”

      Had he planned this after all? It wouldn’t surprise him to learn that everything was premeditated, so no matter whether he had been with him in his room earlier or not, somehow he would still have been dragged here anyway. As the five of them entered the front doors, they were greeted with the sound of the crowd shifting and mingling with each other over the methodically thumping music radiating from all around the room. It was dimly lit except for a few brightly colored lamps placed strategically, making the whole interior seem almost like a club rather than a house. It was fairly impressive, and the prominence of shadows among the sea of people made him feel a little more relaxed. After all, the dark was his. 

      “Alright, go run off you little scamps, Mom and Dad will be around in case you get into any shit.” Wilford waved off Bim and the Jims, who each gave each other a knowing look before wandering off to find friends and/or food. That wasn’t the first time he had used the term Mom and Dad referring to the two of them, and Dark found it slightly amusing. After the others had dispersed, the man with the pink mustache turned to him, curling his arms up and doing a little shimmy. 

      “Soo, pretty neat huh? Are you ready to have a good time?” He waggled his eyebrows. “This music is more chill than I thought it would be, kinda sexy. I think I like it.”

      The beat of the song was pulsing through the very walls, and everyone around them was dancing and moving in close proximity like a mob of wild animals. The rhythm was bassy and penetrating, accompanied by resonating vocals that made the whole thing seem like a fever dream. There was a red light near them, illuminating the highlights of Wilford’s face and making his neck shimm - oh good lord, was that body glitter? Of course it was. He should have expected nothing less. Over the madman came, turning his back to him and peering over his shoulder. “Come on, dance with me. Maybe it’ll get you in the right mood.”

      He started swaying to the beat just as the song picked up, but for all that he was trying to do, it was unsuccessful in making Dark feel any better. Something was wrong here, he felt it in the pit of his stomach. There was a mounting sense of anxiety sweeping over him like a storm cloud, and the feeling was only getting stronger the more he was here. The sounds of the party were fading out to white noise, and the fear of getting lost in himself was the only thing that kept him in reality. So he fixed his eyes on Wilford, who was dancing like no one was watching, and found his hands sliding on to his hips from behind as he moved. Will, surprised and pleased, moved closer and really started swaying, revealing a side of himself that Dark had never seen. Under the red light shining on his face was a playful hunger, while his lips were curled into a devious smile but his eyes burned a fire within. It made his hands want to roam over those rolling hips and his lips explore the neck that glittered underneath his collar, but a public place was no such time to do so. 

      Songs began to meld into each other as time passed, nothing with a beginning or an end as the only thing that began to change were his feelings. The presence of other people began to disappear as they melted into the crowd and simply danced with one another, transfixed with the music and the feeling of their own bodies. It reminded him of parties he may or may not have participated in before, as the memories of such were just fleeting familiarity of sights and sounds. He had the vaguest thought of perhaps having done a keg stand, but the idea of doing it now simply repulsed him. It was enough that he was mingling, maybe even making a fool of himself, but it was all for the man that danced in front of him. He would do anything for him, that fact was clear to him now.

      After a while, out of the corner of his eye, Dark overheard a conversation of two people as they descended the stairs he and Wilford were next to. It felt like his stomach jumped into his throat as he realized he knew exactly who it was, and it took an abnormal amount of strength to stop his aura from flaring up right in the middle of the party. That skin so pale and the shock of green hair make him instantly furious, and Wilford let out a squeak of surprise when Dark’s fingers accidentally began to tighten. 

      “Jesus christ, all I see are people grinding on each other. This is fucking ridiculous, I hate this. Why couldn't you have taken all your little friends and gone somewhere else besides here? They’re all having FUN, Chase, but not even the good kind of fun.”

      Dark would recognize that special brand of bitching anywhere.


End file.
